Despite Everything, Dean is Happy
by Padfoot3456
Summary: Post Apocalypse story. Completely disregards season 6. Even though Sam's gone, and he hasn't seen Castiel in forever, Dean can still kid himself that he's perfectly okay.


It's been years since Dean hunted. He's lost count of how many. He just knows it's a lot. He and Ben had a falling out when the kid turned twenty. Lisa's dead. Bobby's dead. Dean's just barely holding on. Dad's gone, been gone for what seems like forever. Sam… Dean doesn't even want to think about Sam. Not because he's ashamed, no.

He's still guilty as hell, still pissed off at himself for actually doing what Sam said. But he's finally settled down, finally stabilized himself. He sees Cas every once in a while, but it's been several months since the angel visited him. And even then, it was only for a few hours. Not nearly enough time.

Dean feels very normal as he shuffles through his and Lisa's old house to the bathroom in the morning. They never married, but there were certainly some feelings there. What Dean's were, he doesn't know, but he remembers trying to be like a father and a husband without actually having the wedding band to prove it. It kills him that he never proposed, either. It kills him that he doesn't talk to Ben anymore.

He looks in the mirror to see a wrinkled old man with disappearing white hair and cloudy green eyes. Dean almost laughs. He never thought he'd get to be the age of eighty-two-and-a-half. He had always been under the impression that he'd die young.

Then again, only the good die young.

Chuckling bitterly, Dean gets ready for the day. He puts on some old jeans and a flannel shirt and goes out for a walk. Buddy, the dog that one of Lisa's friends gave him for Christmas trots alongside him without a leash. The German Shepard was trained well; probably one of the smartest dogs on the whole planet, Dean thinks.

He heads down to the park with a paper bag that's almost full. He drifts through the gate and watches as Buddy goes to play with some other dogs that are a little ways off, tail wagging and tongue flapping. He stands there and watches them for a moment before continuing on his way. Dean sits down on an old wooden bench under an oak tree and opens the paper bag slowly.

Songbirds flock down to the dirt track in front of him, having learned what the crinkle of the brown material means. Sure enough, they are rewarded with a handful of yellow birdseed. Dean watches the various types as they glide down in turns on colourful wings, pecking at the dirt for a while before soaring away, only to zoom down again when Dean plunges his hand back into the bag.

This is what he's become now. A senile old fool who's only good for feeding birds and telling stories. He's practically a hermit. If it weren't for Castiel and maybe one or two others, Dean thinks he would have turned himself in a long time ago. Fake death be damned.

He half expects Sam to come running up, urging him to get his sorry ass back in the Impala so they can go back to hunting the creature of the week. But he stopped looking up and waiting for that years and years ago. Now he just sits and feeds the birds all day. And when he runs out of feed, he walks until the arthritis is too much to bear before going home, taking an Advil, and falling asleep on the couch.

He's learned how to be an old man. It wasn't something that he just knew how to do. One time, he got up out of bed too fast and nearly broke his own spine. After that he had to be more careful with how he moved. Old wounds that had never given him trouble before began to gave him issues, and his bones ached when the weather was shitty.

Buddy comes racing up then with a stick in his mouth, scattering the blue jays and robins that had been feasting before. Dean smiles sadly at the dog, who's jittering all over with happiness. He was still young, still able to move easily. Unlike Dean, who's been reduced to a hunching posture and shuffling everywhere. Sam would be disappointed.

"Sorry, Buddy. I can't throw that very far anymore." Dean whispers, taking the stick anyways.

Buddy doesn't care, though. He scrambles for the stick when Dean tosses it underhand, even though it lands a mere two meters away. They do this for a while before Buddy gets tired and lays down beside Dean's bench, panting and wagging his tail lazily. Dean stretches out as best he can as the sun rises further in the sky, rolling the top of the still half-filled bag down so it's at least closed, because he knows the birds won't be back while the dog is around.

That's when Castiel appears beside him, startling Buddy. But not Dean. Dean just doesn't get scared like that anymore.

"Hello, Dean." Castiel has got a new vessel. A younger man. But he looks very much like Jimmy Novak, and Cas seemed to have liked Jimmy's clothing so much that he kept it.

"Hey Cas." Dean croaks. He doesn't talk much anymore, either. "Why are you here?"

"You wanted me to… visit when I could, and I was able to get away for a little bit." Cas answers.

"You mean you escaped? What have they got you doing up there, anyways?" Cas still hasn't told him, even after all these years.

"Just about everything, actually. It is… Most annoying." He says in that halting manner of his.

"Where's Jimmy? Last time I saw you wearing him he looked like he was about to kick the bucket." Dean doesn't look at Cas, if he can avoid it. They both watch the soccer game that's going on in front of them.

"He is alive. In Colonial Oaks Retirement Facility, I believe." Castiel looks up at the clouds, eyes narrowed as if in thought.

"Oh. Well, I hope he's happy." There is silence for a while. "Cas?"

"Yes, Dean?" Castiel stares at him, doing that eye-fucking thing that makes Dean so uncomfortable.

"I… Would you tell me… Have you…" Dean can't say it. It's taken him this long to actually mention it, and he can't even get the fucking question out.

"I don't know, Dean. I'm sorry." Castiel says softly.

It wasn't like Dean was expecting anything else. Sam's been MIA for this long, why would he suddenly resurface now? Dean nods a little, glancing up to the sky as well. He hopes Sam is somewhere good. Not in Hell anymore.

"Cas…?" He asks again after a very long, tense moment.

"Yes, Dean?" The angel repeats.

"Am I going to die? Soon, I mean." Dean amends his question and finally looks at the angel next to him.

But Castiel is gone. Dean sighs. He was half expecting that, as well. Typical Cas.

"Nice talking to you, too." He mutters, before getting up with a groan has his body protests. "C'mon, boy." He calls to Buddy.

Dean walks home and eats lunch. The Apocalypse may have been averted, but Dean doesn't feel any sense of victory. Actually, he feels like he's on the loosing side. After all, he did loose Sam. Dean drinks a cup of coffee and looks at Buddy, who's lapping out of his water dish like it's the only dish of water left on earth. He smiles sadly.

The dog, the house, and the birds. That's all this senile old man has got left, now that the Apocalypse has had it's way.

And somehow, despite everything, Dean is perfectly happy with that.


End file.
